Page 147 of Every Good Thing
“May I do the packing?”
“Definitely.”
“When can we leave?”
She sighs, her smile and sparkling blue eyes filling me with unbelievable joy. “When you decide where we’re going first.”
I am smitten.
The fear that drove me away from her, I no longer feel because of her. Life is sweet, and love abounds.
Forty-Seven
LENA
Saddletree reopens on a brisk but sunny Saturday in December, and we’ve never been busier. It’s a good busy—not the crazy-busy mess it once was when I needed codes to take breaks or free myself from conversations.
Trisha runs the dining room (with Mr. Wickers). I run the kitchen. Ben oversees everything.
Cars line the country road waiting to get in—Mr. Wickers, Jack Graham, and his neighbors volunteer to direct traffic for opening day. They have a surprisingly well-ordered and professional system with bright neon vests and lighted cones, like those used by air traffic controllers. Jaye Kent, Matt Kirby, and other celebrities from the Hunter series show up for pictures and autographs. Shakespeare’s hayrides boast a waiting list as he drives groups through the woods where “Dr. Jim Hunter puts up a good fight against the evil witches causing a fright.” His poetry clashes strangely with the hayride’s Christmas theme, but patrons enjoy it anyway. Seats in the café and wraparound porch also have a wait, but with the Taylor sisters gone (early retirement) and more professional servers at work, no one minds the wait or has to wait very long.
Not that I have anything to do with that. My focus is in the kitchen, where Tessa and I, a new hire, Rosa, and our dishwasher, Rick, handle orders with precision and low wait times.
I even have time for breaks (Ben calls them code sevens).
Outside, Hugo and Penelope greet me with excited barks and follow as I stroll the busy property.
Under the carport, Cherry hangs out at Matt Kirby’s table, where he flashes his actor smile at fans between offering his real smile to her. Something a little magical is happening there. She accepts his attention coyly, like a skittish cat, unsure if she can trust him. But Dot says they’ve been inseparable since they met. He’s asked her to redesign his Manhattan apartment, and she’s helping him find a beachfront property here. Matt let Cherry install a tracking app on his phone, and Cherry took down her online dating profiles and changed her Facebook status to it’s complicated.
Dot and Jaye’s romance is less complicated—they’ve been all in since that kiss. No drama. No bullshit. All love, as if their relationship always existed and kissing clicked into its intended place. Dot stands, bouncer-like, beside Jaye’s signing table, occasionally dropping her hand on Jaye’s shoulder. The satisfied grin stretching up Jaye’s high cheekbones assures me she’s in love with my best friend.
I find Ben at Mom’s tree, busy on his phone while Ruthie and Adam take turns on the swing. He doesn’t notice me as I cross the lawn toward him, weaving around picnickers and lawn chairs.
In the new shelter, a local band called The Hurricanes plays classic rock hits. After their set, another group will take over, and the music will continue all afternoon and evening. Saddletree’s opening day will end with sparklers, small campfires, hot chocolate, and fireworks. Wanting a real celebration, Ben planned it all. The families stretching across the field laugh, smile, clap, and dance, clearly in favor.
Saddletree is finally, once again, the happiest place.
I eye my tall, bulky, handsome husband and want to climb him like a lustful monkey—a plan for later. For now, I take him in with so much love in my heart. He looks serious and determined, dressed in his business casual button-down, vest, and khakis and wearing his reading glasses as he operates his phone.
His demeanor changes when he sees me. His dashing, full smile reaches his eyes as he slides his phone away. He looks coy, like he might want to climb me, too. A tongue-laced kiss greets me—I could get used to code sevens like this.
“You were right,” I say, remembering this morning when our alarms sounded together, and after both hitting snooze, we turned to each other, and he signed, “It’s a good day” in the small space between us.
“How do you know?” I asked. “It hasn’t started yet.”
“They’re all good days with you,” he said before kissing me, and then… well, let’s say I no longer think about the clock when sexy, fun times kick off. That’s one perk of having a good manager.
Another is his unabashed excitement. It’s no surprise that he’s good at this job. All that self-discipline, efficiency, and hyper-planning—how could he not be, right? What I didn’t expect was his devout enthusiasm. This is not just a job for him. During our epic road trip, he started a notebook of Saddletree ideas, like hosting outdoor movie nights and optimizing seating in the dining room. Ben manages with wholehearted belief that anything is possible here. More support groups. Community festivals. Weddings. Car shows. Holiday celebrations. Christmas light shows. Corn mazes. Anything. And he wants to try it all. Ben lives, breathes, and loves managing Saddletree.
“We’ve already exceeded today’s projected profits,” he tells me at the tree. “Tomorrow might be even bigger.” He motions to a camera crew from the local news setting up near the concert venue. “Have time for an interview?”
I grimace and step away from him. “Oh, I have to get back to the kitchen. Those rolls won’t bake themselves.”
His green eyes narrow, catching my sarcasm. He grabs my hand and pulls me to the less-populated side of the sprawling live oak. He eases me against the rough bark with soft kisses.
“On second thought,” I say a little breathless, “I’ll do whatever you want, boss.”
With a throaty chuckle, he says, “That’s better.”
